Saturday, October 16, 2010

Wrong Shoe

Adopting the wrong pose at the frantic
momentum to tear the roof
from a child at a time
when blossoms seem at odds
with the humble existence
outside of sharp edges
and leaking worry
pleading with the icicles
leaping from waving tree
to wavering affection
dreaming of hot burnt tea
before the leaves have unfurled
placid in this intended infection
unruled by design no fault went blind
the wrong shoe is on the wrong foot
the steps are not in time
the blades that fall are not synchronised
they fall, so the heads that fall dig holes for themselves
under snow the money is so much like a river
it flows under the bridge and they cycle over
unaware of the swarm of bees erupting from both sides
of that large tree or its eyes that follow you
from birth until you are old enough to chop it down
or leave the cutting edge and its mark in the wood